part0006

When I saw the wheel clamp on my car I felt like bursting into tears. The Beccabird went into a complete meltdown and cackled for hours whilst informing me that it was all my own fault .

Which it was.

I tramped despondently all the way back to the security office and when the security man eventually looked up from his newspaper, I told him that I’d been clamped. I’m sure I saw a hint of a smile on his miserable face.

‘So,’ I’d said, ‘Can you come and take it off, please?’

He drew air in noisily through his nose and blew it out through his three remaining teeth and shook his head whilst pursing his lips.

‘You should have had a parking permit. Anyone without one gets clamped.’

‘Yes,’ I’d said, trying my hardest not to shout at him, ‘I know that now but obviously when I parked there this morning I didn’t know that. It’s my first day, you see. ’

He’d tutted and mumbled something about that being no excuse and lumbered over to the back of the office where he took a black folder down from a shelf and slowly made his way back to the counter. He then ever so slowly leafed through every page until he found what he was looking for and then even more slowly punched some numbers into the grubby phone on the counter.

‘They might have gone by now,’ he’d said hopefully as he held the receiver to his ear listening to it ringing. ‘Might have to leave it ‘til first thing tomorrow morning.’

Visions of stomping home in the rain – because of course it was chucking it down by then – and the humiliation of having my car unclamped while everyone was arriving for work the next day flashed through my head like a waking nightmare.

Then someone must have answered the phone because I saw the security guard’s disappointed look as he spoke to them. After he’d put the phone down, he became quite animated and informed me importantly that not displaying a parking permit was actually a disciplinary matter because being so close to the town centre, illegal parking was rampant. He’d then delighted in telling me that he’d have to inform my line manager of my failure to display a parking permit so that they could take the appropriate action against me.

A vision of Em’s face and the resultant telling off flashed before me and I have to admit that at that point I very nearly lost it; I was an inch away from telling him to fuck right off. I’m not proud of it and to be honest, if the Beccabird hadn’t been screaming at me to calm down I’d probably have said it and maybe even punched him on his big, fat nose as well.

Eventually, after a lot of grovelling and repeatedly telling him it was my first day and how terribly sorry I was he agreed that he’d let it go. This time.

The only good thing about it all was that by the time the unclamping began everyone in the building had gone home so there was no one there to see Dave from the clamping department - yes, really, they have a department for it, it’s a sub-department of security - remove the clamp from my car. Dave, by the way, thought the whole situation was absolutely hilarious and he didn’t shut up the whole time he was unclamping me. On and on and on...and he asked me out.

It was totally my own fault because I was distracted and I wasn’t paying proper attention to what he was saying. When he said I expect your boyfriend’ll be wondering where you are, I stupidly said I haven’t got a boyfriend . The minute I’d said it I could have kicked myself because I could suddenly see exactly where the conversation was going but by then it was too late.

I had to let him down gently because obviously I wanted my car unclamped pronto, so I lied and told him that I was sorry if I gave him the wrong impression but I was happily married to my wife . I’m usually a terrible liar but he completely believed me and his eyes lit up a bit and he said if I ever fancied trying a man I knew where he was.

Yes, honestly, he said that.

I should have been flattered because I don’t actually get asked out all that often but the thing is, I’m not all about how a man looks but I do like them to have their own hair and most of their teeth and to not be four inches shorter than me. There are limits. I did wonder if he asked every female out that he unclamped because I can’t see him getting a date otherwise. I also noted that not having many teeth is a prerequisite for a job in Atkinsons security department, perhaps they put it on the job description.

So when I was finally unclamped and driving home it took all of my willpower not to call in at the supermarket on the way to buy a huge bottle of gin to drown my sorrows. But the Beccabird wouldn’t shut up and I agreed to go straight home as long as she stopped going on about it . Also, I didn’t want to be having a horrible hangover on my second day or, God forbid, oversleep and be late for work.

It was a quarter to eight by the time I got in and I couldn’t be bothered to cook, so my dinner consisted of four slices of toast with butter, slavered in peanut butter with jam on the top.

Not surprisingly, I felt sick and had indigestion afterwards and had to glug down half a bottle of Gaviscon.

There’s this assumption that you can do anything on your own and no one bats an eyelid nowadays but I know the truth of it; it’s lonely and embarrassing sitting in a restaurant on your own, people do look at you. I can just about get away with going to the pictures alone because it’s dark in there but it’s not the same as having someone to go with.

I could visit Mum and Dad again but if I do I know they’ll pick up on the fact that I’m as lonely as hell and I don’t want them to start worrying about me. They’ve done enough of that.

Maybe when I’ve been at Atkinsons for a bit longer I’ll get a bit of a social life. I don’t think Trina’s got a partner so maybe we could chum up and go out together, we do get on really well already.

I hear the front door open so yet again Flynn is going to catch me slobbing around in my pyjamas, although I’m not that bothered because it is a Saturday after all and it’s only half past nine.

‘Morning,’ I call out.

He appears in the kitchen doorway looking flustered. He has his work boiler suit on as if he’s ready to go to work.

‘Hey,’ he drags his hand through his red curls distractedly.

‘You working today then?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. Rush job on.’

‘I thought you didn’t work on Saturdays.’

‘I don’t, and I don’t really want to work today but I can’t get out of it. Bloody nuisance. I put in for the job months ago and she dithered about and then rings me this week and says she need it doing asap. I should have said no but the money’s too good to turn down. I might have to work tomorrow as well.’ He looks fed up.

‘Well, if there’s anything I can do,’ I say in a throwaway manner as I lick my finger and flip over a page of my magazine.

‘Do you mean that?’

‘Do I mean what?’

‘About doing anything? ’

Too late I realise what I’ve said; the Beccabird laughs manically.

‘Of course,’ I say, not meaning it at all. ‘Anything. Just ask.’

‘You look reasonably fit. Can you dig? And lift stuff?’ He looks me up and down with narrowed eyes. Don’t push the boat out with the compliments, Flynn.

‘Yeah, of course I can,’ I say indignantly. The Beccabird laughs even louder.

‘You could help me. I’d pay you.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to pay me.’

‘No, I insist. It’s hard work and I’m getting paid well so I wouldn’t expect you to work for nothing.’

I shrug. ‘Okay but you don’t have to.’ Why did I open my big mouth?

Flynn claps his hands together and rubs them. ‘Brilliant, you’re a star, Becca. I’ll give you one of my boiler suits to wear and it’ll be so much quicker with the two of us doing it. I really appreciate it. Right, I’ve just got to load up the truck so I’ll see you out the front in what, say, ten minutes?’

‘Ten minutes?’ I splutter, nearly choking on my coffee.

‘Yeah.’ He turns and stomps out through the kitchen. ‘And don’t bother showering ‘cos you’ll be filthy by the time we’re finished. And wear old clothes,’ he shouts over his shoulder as he goes out of the front door.

Why did I open my big mouth? I’m not in the slightest bit fit and I’ve just managed to talk myself into a day’s hard labour.

Well what else did you have planned ? asks the Beccabird spitefully, Lunch with your friends, a hot date?

She’s right; I was only going to sit here feeling sorry for myself and eat my bodyweight in chocolate reading about Kerry Katona’s latest husband. I’ll think of it as a work out, I decide, it’ll be good exercise and might even kick start anew health regime. I jump up out of the chair and make myself run up the stairs as if this will somehow make me fitter. I dash into the bathroom and brush my teeth while looking longingly at the shower, I could be in and out in five minutes.

Five minutes! Snorts the Beccabird. You’ll be ages and make Flynn late for the job.

Annoyingly, she’s right, I’m not the quickest at getting washed but I feel grubby, I haven’t left the house without showering in many years.

No. I can’t make Flynn late, I’ll just have to feel dirty because I really don’t have time. Teeth scrubbed, I quickly squirt some deodorant underneath my armpits and rub a wet wipe over my face, which will have to do.

I sprint into my bedroom and drag my oldest jeans from the bottom of the wardrobe; faded and worn to a soft denim, they’re the most comfortable pair I possess. I yank my pyjamas off and throw them on the bed and drag the jeans on and pull an old T-shirt over my head. It might be a bit cold so I pull a sweatshirt out of the drawer that’s definitely seen better days. It’s a bit tight because I put it on a too hot wash but it won’t matter because it’ll be underneath one of Flynn’s boiler suits. I pull on the socks with the hole in and put my rattiest old trainers on. I knew these old clothes would come in handy one day.

Seeing as you wear them to slob around the house most of the time you weren’t going to throw them away, were you? the Beccabird, as usual, has to stick her beak in.

I drag a comb through my hair and scoop it up into a pony tail and ram a baseball cap over the top. It’s greasy and due a wash this morning but no time for that now; a vision of me relaxing in a luxurious bubble bath soaking away the aches and pains of the day pops into my head. I’ll probably lose at least half a stone with all this exercise and get nicely toned up as well.

Perfect.

Just in time too; I hear a rumbling noise and look down into the street from my bedroom window to see Flynn’s battered open back truck pulling up outside the house. A jumble of spades, assorted gardening tools and what looks like rubble and mud are heaped haphazardly in the back. I grab my house keys from the dressing table and run down the stairs, having a quick look in the kitchen to make sure I haven’t left anything turned on before I leave the house.

I rap on the truck window and Flynn leans across the passenger seat and pushes the door open. I clamber onto the front seat which is an all in one bench and I wonder where the gear stick is hiding. Sausage is sitting on the seat next to Flynn and as I shut the door and pull my seat belt on, he sidles up next to me.

‘Hello, Sausage.’ I stroke his velvety ears and he looks up me with his liquid brown eyes.

Flynn is frowning at my feet.

‘There’s a spare pair of overalls there.’ He nods at the seat between us. ‘You’ll have to roll the legs up.’

‘Okay.’

Flynn is frowning at my feet.

Haven’t you got any wellies?’

‘No.’

‘What size are you?’

‘Five.’

‘Christ, midget feet,’ he snorts, pushing the gear shift on the steering wheel and stamping his foot on the accelerator. ‘I’d lend you a pair of mine but I take an eleven.’

‘I haven’t got midget feet, I’m a girl. I’m not supposed to have size eleven feet,’ I say.

‘I suppose they’ll have to do,’ he says, as if I can change the size of my feet. ‘Just be careful where you’re stepping. Don’t want any nasty accidents.’

I say nothing and pull Sausage onto my lap so I can cuddle him. He nestles into me and promptly falls asleep.

We drive through the centre of Frogham and out onto the B road towards Frogley-by-Sea. We bump along the road and everything in the truck seems to rattle; if I didn’t have the seat belt holding me in I think I’d slide off the seat. I hold Sausage a bit tighter. The seat feels as if it’s made from concrete and I hope we don’t have too far to go.

‘So where’s this job?’ I shout over the noise of the engine.

‘About ten miles away. Cracking house but it’s pretty much in the middle of nowhere.’

‘And what’s the job? What are you actually doing there?’

‘Nothing too drastic. Some borders and putting some stone in front of the pond and a general tidy up. The garden’s a bit drab and needs tarting up. The stone chippings are being delivered this morning and the plants were delivered yesterday so we’re good to go.’ I notice he doesn’t sound so Irish today so his mum and dad must be due a visit.

‘So why does it have to be done today?’

‘Ah, well, I quoted for this job months ago and I never got it – I’m pretty sure she gave it to someone else who was cheaper and I reckon they let her down. Then she rings me on Thursday asking if I’d do it and I said no, I was too busy, told her I was all booked up for weeks to come. Then she asks what about doing it over the weekend and I said no, I don’t work weekends but she’s not listening and she’s near begging me. Says it has to be done before next week ‘cos she’s having some sort of a do. Thought she was going to have a breakdown.’

‘So what made you change your mind?’

‘Money. Steve had this great idea of telling her I could do it as an extra special rush job but it’d cost double what I originally quoted – if she pays it great, and if she says no, well that’s her look out. Win win, as they say.’

‘Wow, double. And she said yes.’

‘Yeah, couldn’t believe she was prepared to pay that much. So now I have to put my money where my mouth is and get the job done. Which is why I’m more than happy to pay you.’

‘Great!’ I say hoping that he’s not expecting too much. Apart from walking to work every day – which I haven’t actually done yet – I don’t do any exercise. At all. Ever.

I’m surprised Steve’s not helping though, as it was his bright idea.

‘Steve didn’t want to help you with it then?’

‘God no!’ he says. ‘Manual labour isn’t really Steve’s forte.’

‘No?’ I question, ‘What is Steve’s forte then?’ But I don’t think Flynn can hear me over the roar of the engine because he doesn’t answer.

A vision of Steve pops into my head; an immaculately groomed air steward, perfect hair and skin with immaculately defined eyebrows. I’m intrigued though. I wonder when I’ll get to meet him? I mean, they can’t stay at his house all of the time, surely? I study Flynn’s profile out of the corner of my eye; his hair is definitely dyed because I can see dark roots coming through. Even though he’s frowning as he concentrates on driving there’s no disguising his good looks, he has lovely eyes and blemish free skin and I feel quite envious of him, if he got something done about that awful red hair, he’d be absolutely stunning.

But he’s gay , warns the Beccabird.

Yes, I know , I’m just making an observation, it’s not as if I fancy him or anything because I know that would be completely pointless.

We swerve around a corner that I didn’t see coming and Sausage and I slide roughly into the passenger door before we come to an abrupt halt in front of a large detached farmhouse.

‘This is us!’ shouts Flynn. He flings open the door and jumps out of the truck onto the gravel drive. Sausage wakes up instantly and scuttles across to Flynn who reaches in and scoops him up in one hand and tucks him under his arm.

I unclip my seatbelt and get out and stretch to ease the cramp in my legs from sitting on the hard seat. I watch as Flynn starts to unload tools from the back of the truck while Sausage trots around sniffing.

I grab the overalls from the truck seat and attempt to pull them over my feet but they’re too narrow. I have to resort to taking my trainers off to get them on and then put them back on again while hopping around. I belatedly realise that it would have been much easier if I’d stayed in the truck and done it there. Once I’ve got the buttons done up I roll the legs up and also the sleeves; it absolutely swamps me and I feel ridiculous, I could probably fit another me inside it as well. And all of that rolled up material is heavy, too, I feel exhausted already with the effort of putting it on.

‘You going to help me unload or just watch?’ Flynn shouts at me.

I don’t answer but waddle to the back of the truck trying to not walk like a sumo wrestler because the rolled-up bits are so bulky.

Stifling what I’m sure is a laugh, Flynn pulls a shovel from the truck with one hand and holds it out to me. I put out one hand to take it and when he lets go I nearly drop it and have to clutch it with two hands, it weighs a ton .

As I turn to go round to the back garden I look at Flynn who has a big cheesy grin on his face.

‘Something funny?’ I snap.

‘No. Nothing.’

I glare at him unsmilingly and he bites his lip and turns away and starts dragging more tools off the back of the truck. I stand for a moment and watch as his shoulders shake with laughter.

I knew this was a bad idea.